


Ours

by VintageJacqui



Category: Nagron - Fandom, Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VintageJacqui/pseuds/VintageJacqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys deal with Nasir getting breast cancer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours

Agron is sprawled on the bed, long and lean and perfect, chin resting on the bend of his elbow joint. He’s texting someone, his brother probably, and he’s got a smile tugging at his lips, lighting his eyes.

Nasir doesn’t want to break it. Doesn’t want to move away from this moment and shatter it with his fear. They’re still so new, so innocently in love. He wants to stand in the doorway and watch the rise and fall of Agron’s back forever, his breathing content, and steady, and safe. It whispers home with every exhale.

Eventually, Nasir forces his limbs awake, steps forward, one, two, three, bare feet on solid wood. He’s bare everywhere, dewy and dripping still from Agron’s ridiculous shower, no point in covering up.

Their eyes meet and Nasir pulls more oxygen from the air than he needs, his chest bursting from it. Agron frowns and stuffs his phone into the nest of blankets he’s made under himself.

"What’s wrong?"

"I need..," Nasir starts, biting his lip raw as he thinks carefully how to continue. "I need you to check me. I found a lump."

Agron twists like a ballerina on the bed, muscle and sinew moving gracefully under his burnished skin. The heat of his breath spikes prickles across Nasir’s belly as he gets in close, hands gripping too tight on his hips.

"I didn’t feel anything when I… I didn’t feel anything."

Nasir nods, knows Agron is remembering taking Nasir’s balls in his mouth not twenty minutes ago. He sees the panic in his eyes grow.

Agron’s hands are exploring now, teasing back Nasir’s cock, but just to look, not daring to touch something that could tear his heart out.

"No," Nasir says, folding his hand around Agron’s wrist, drawing it up over his hipbone, the inward curve of waist and bump of ribs. He lifts his arm and pushes the blunts of Agron’s digits into his armpit.

"Oh. Oh, shit, it’s…. I feel it. Nasir, fuck, what..?"

Agron lowers his head when Nasir runs a comforting palm around the back of his neck, removing his fingers and tucking them into Nasir’s hair. They want to hide in there. Agron knows he can’t.

Instead he does the only thing he can do. He pretends. Pretends that he’s strong, and able, and worthy. Nasir needs him to be and so he is, even when he feels like his soul is fraying.

He holds Nasir’s life in his hands when he goes in for a check up, soothes it when it’s time for a biopsy, weeps with it when the doctor spells the words breast cancer in fine, slanted ink.

Nasir watches himself dissolve like rice paper in water, his body and mind changing with the savage aggression of treatment, of healing. Agron never wavers, never bends through the horror of it. He soldiers on, makes Nasir smile when he can, makes him laugh. Never leaves.

"Marry me," Nasir says one day, completely out of the blue. "There’s a chapel down the hall."

"We’ll need witnesses," Agron replies, unfolding the starched white cotton trapping Nasir on the hospital bed.

They tumble into a room filled with stained glass coloured light and take vows that come out in broken sentences from their heads. Nothing planned could ever mean as much.

After, Agron carries Nasir over the threshold of his room on the ward, tells Nasir he’s always going to be his little man, now. Always.

It rains on the day that they get the all clear. Agron is like a wind up toy, jerking and vibrating, his emotions only now allowed to escape him. Nasir puts his forehead on Agron’s chest, turns his ear against it to hear the erratic beating of his heart to match.

He wonders if the strength inside him was there all the time, or if Agron put it there. Hollowed out his insides and gave everything he had to Nasir. He wonders all the way home until they’re lying in bed where this all began, and then he wonders out loud.

Agron gathers Nasir in his arms, covers him with warmth and belonging, kisses over the tender ridge of scar tissue.

"It was there all along, little man," Agron says, tired eyes struggling to stay open even with the bedside lamp bathing them in light. He turns the silver band around on Nasir’s finger and holds up his own to show him how the two match perfectly. "Your strength is mine and mine is yours."

"Ours?" Nasir asks.

"Ours," Agron answers.


End file.
